


Wrong Done

by BookofLife



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 4.05, All is not well, End Scene, F/M, Laurel brought her sister back, What is Jess doing, after she was ripped from peace, her sister killed people, she asks herself/, weirdly nice/fluffy too though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 23:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofLife/pseuds/BookofLife
Summary: Grief does things to people, Felicity knew that. But this... it was too much to forgive. Too much to forget.





	Wrong Done

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I have no idea where this came from. This was written this morning - after a large whisky because company and food can equal copious amounts of alcohol before 2pm - so forgive the length of it please. Or randomness.  
> Hope you like it.

“Hey.”

Like a moth to a flame; there he was, just when she needed him. He was always looking for her. Like he wasn’t whole without her.

She knew the feeling.

But she’d seemed out isolation for a reason and him finding her, curled up in her seat – her shoes were on the floor – in front of her monitors, might not be the best thing.

He was already climbing the steps to her space. “Felicity?”

Sighing, twirling round in the chair; she sent the man she loved with her whole heart the only smile she could find. “Hi.”

Whatever she looked like just then, made concern trickle into his expression. “What is it?” Drawing near, he immediately crouched down and reached out to her, as if he couldn’t help himself; hands ghosting over her thighs and finding her uncovered arms resting in her lap. “You’re cold.”

“I’m okay.”

“And a terrible liar.” The light frown became a tapered line. “Something’s wrong. What is it? Hon?” He added when she didn’t speak; concern washing over him, making the edges of his face soften further and really, he was edible _all_ the time. “Felicity?” Her name on his lips was a comfort in and of itself.

She tried to smile but it _wobbled_.

Leaning forwards on his knees, he pressed into her own; the need to comfort her a visceral presence in his eyes. “Talk to me.”

_Talk to me Felicity._

Staring down at her hands entombed in his, she waited for the feeling inside her – like a clogged pipe – to go away. Instead, her stomach turned over. He couldn’t get rid of this one by touch alone and normally, he could. He _had_. Not this time.

“I don’t trust Laurel anymore.” She told him in a whisper because saying it aloud sounded so much worse than the many times she’d thought it since they’d all had a hand in yanking Sara’s soul free from heaven’s warmth three hours ago.

The way Oliver’s kind hands stilled around her own, made the feeling worsen. Made her feel ashamed of herself, but she couldn’t help it.

She did _not_ trust her.

Eyes impossibly loving, he slowly shook his head. “Why?”

“Laurel…” she took another breath. “This wasn’t like with Thea, Oliver.” Bottom lip pulled between her teeth, Felicity moved her gaze to and from their hands to the confusion in his eyes. “Sara was dead for a year. _Decomposing_.” Just to emphasise the depth of what Laurel had done – defiling a grave, digging out her own sister, pulling her from grace once her body descended into the pit – and involving all of them without the slightest regard. “And her soul? It was wherever we go… when we die.” She finished helplessly, swallowing; feeling a little ridiculous for being the only one to feel this and yet frustrated _because_ of that fact. It was a big deal, bigger than big. “I know you don’t believe in God the way I do, but Sara did. She told me once. She believed. And I know she was at peace. I asked Constantine.” She added, hurriedly, when Oliver’s beautifully compassionate mouth opened to speak; to try and soothe her sudden misgivings about a woman he held a long history with. “The reason why she returned without her soul was because Sara had moved on. She’d moved _on_ Oliver.”

And, be it the most devout man or less religious woman; anyone would understand that. Oliver, as much as he denied the existence of God, she knew he believed. Knew he prayed.

Her words – his happiness at having an old friend and lover returned from the grave – made him view memories with a new taint attached.

Made his surety falter.

“The place you and Laurel took her out of? That wasn’t hell or some limbo dimension,” they couldn’t afford to comfort themselves thinking like that, “that was the place Laurel created when she placed Sara in the Lazarus pit.” Letting that wash over him, she watched Oliver slowly sink back onto his shins; still watching her with that slight frown, only now he was thinking back to that horrible place he’d had to visit… and she was making him question what he’d thought to be true, that Sara hadn’t been resting; she’d been lost, and Laurel saved her… but it wasn’t true. “It’s the place souls go when they’re fractured,” when Sara was forced to come back to life, “when something unnatural occurs. The way Sara was, that violent shell Laurel dragged back into the city? She was that way _because_ it was abnormal. She killed people.” His mouth opened aimlessly, just watching her make this point, “two women, one _barely_ out of her teens, because Laurel made a decision without thinking about the consequences,” her voice was barely a voice at all, “and Laurel blamed you.” Unable to understand how Laurel had come to that conclusion, how Oliver hadn’t been thrown by the accusation and the transference of blame. As if _expecting_ the blame or, worse… as if no matter what Laurel did or said, Oliver would forever overlook it. _The past holds onto him_ , in ways even she couldn’t touch. Until now, she thought it was because he didn’t understand it. What if it was by choice?

“Laurel chose herself,” she mumbled, looking away from his pretty eyes into some place that wasn’t _here_ , “ _always_ herself; damn everybody else.”

And maybe it was the reminder of something once said years before, but – in her peripheral – she caught Oliver’s bodily jolt. Felt eyes more open than before, look at her with a new intensity.

She couldn’t consider it. “I can’t, in all honesty, work with someone who’d make that choice without showing remorse.”

“She has remorse.” He murmured to her and it felt muted somehow; as if her words had numbed him. But his thumb worked over her knuckles and that gave her hope. Made her realise that she could continue because he hadn’t heard it all. “I know she does. I know Laurel; she’s a good person.”

 _I know Laurel_. As if Felicity could ever forget _that_ when she’d been reminded over and over again, for years.

 _But he knows me too_. What meant more to him?

“Then where is it?” Her regret? Her grief? Her guilt? “Is it here,” she asked softly, lifting hands and stroking her fingers through his own, “in your hands? Is this where she cares?”

Or was it just where Laurel left her heart? Did she allow Oliver to take on her pain because he’d tasked himself to do exactly that since his return? Would the past always have a hold on him this way?

“I…” And he looked so disconcerted. “I don’t know.” She was making him see a different perspective and not a good one, of a lifelong friend he’d long-since held upon high esteem… and, well, she hated it too; thinking that this woman, who’s friend she’d also become, could be _this_ cold hearted and plain _wrong_ but not see that she was. “I’m sure she cares, sometimes more than most of us…” he trailed off like he _wasn’t_ sure of that anymore and-

More than most of us? More than you Oliver? Felicity doubted it; there wasn’t a soul alive who cared more than Oliver.

“There’s something else.” She said and this time he simply waited; wariness etching into his face the way it hadn’t since before they’d run away together and that hit her like a brick to the stomach. “Something happened to Thea when they were at Nanda Parbat.” And she could feel it in the air, when Oliver focusing like a shark on what mattered. “She killed someone.”

Eyelids fluttering in shock, Oliver stared.

“It was Malcolm’s doing.” She gently told him.

“Of course, it was.” He breathed, hurt. Sad. Horrified. _Angry_.

 _Venture carefully_. “But he wouldn’t have been within reach of Thea if-”

“If Laurel hadn’t taken her to Nanda Parbat.” He finished for her, speaking the words like they were a question, barely speaking them at _all_.

 _Maybe not so carefully then_. “She was Laurel’s way in.” Elaborating felt like she was taking Laurel and twisting every action she’d carried out and yet… Laurel had taken Thea to Nanda Parbat knowing Malcolm was there and she did it anyway. “She used her.”

Eyes wide open, “No,” his voice was low and coarse and so soft, she felt his no in the region behind her rib cage, “No. I won’t believe it.” That Laurel Lance, with their history, would put Thea in the crosshairs deliberately.

“I’m not saying she doesn’t care about Thea.” Leaning inwards now, closer to him – watching his fingers grip the sides of her chair – Felicity’s hand touched his shoulder, fingers stroking in. “But she knew, Oliver. And she made a choice.” In the long run, Thea came second to Sara.

“…She missed her sister.” It was like he was searching for every possible explanation.

Murmuring now, her fingers lifted to his face; tentatively touching his chin. “Don’t you miss your mother?”

His eyes closed; brow concentrating on… on something.

“Didn’t you even consider it, when you were in Nanda Parbat?”

A gust of air left him as he responded. “Of course, I did.”

“What stopped you?”

There was a pause.

Then-

“It was unnatural.”

Exactly.

She smiled the smile of sadness and memories and people long since gone. “We were doing fine without Sara, Oliver. We missed her. She should never have had her life taken at such a young age, at _any_ age, especially with the way it was taken. But it happens. People die; you can’t just bring them back and expect the world to keep turning exactly the same as before.” And now Thea would be the one dealing with those consequences; not Laurel who’d put her in them. “Laurel’s choice has forced Thea onto a path I wouldn’t wish on anyone, it took away Thea’s choice.” Because if given more time, could Thea have fought the compulsion? And now that she’d killed, could she even try to stop anymore? “Her choice forfeited the lives of two women who are just as loved, and now missed, as Sara was.” It was getting difficult to talk, to breathe; as if the damning words were draining her. “It’s Sara who will have to live with that mistake; not Laurel.” And it sounded scarily manipulative... To think about Laurel like this, about how everything had been so neatly handled, felt surreal. Laurel wouldn’t have to deal with the murders, the police would. Her father would. She wouldn’t have to go through Thea’s pain, not when Sara was her priority.

And throughout it all, she’d managed to keep Oliver’s good opinion of her whilst simultaneously blaming him.

It sounded… bad.

And when Oliver opened his eyes again, to confront hers, they spoke of what she’d _not_ said. “What are you saying?”

“It…” she licked her lips her mouth suddenly dry, “When Laurel wants something enough, everything else will come second. That includes this team.” It _had_ included the team already. “And I won’t blindly trust her to make a choice that _doesn’t_ serve her self-interests in future.”

That was at the route of sacrifice and heroism.

And Oliver… rejected it all. “You can’t apply what she did here to every choice in the future.” Like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You make her sound utterly self- centred.”

 _Breathe_. She was accusing Laurel. THE Laurel. To Oliver. “…Maybe she is.” Maybe, after everything that had happened in her life, she felt she had the right to be selfish.

Moving like a geriatric, Oliver stood; walking away with his hands coming up over his face only to join at the back of his neck.

Having his back to her like that, made helpless frustration well up inside her. Made her eyes tear.

Wiping at them swiftly, she took a shallow breath. “Why is it _so_ unbearable for you to even consider?” Staring at his fingers, she shifted in her seat so that a knee came up and she was practically hugging it; pushing down a niggling doubt that she was sure had been crushed with the words _I want to be with you_. “Did you see Thea earlier?” Curled up on the hospital bed, hearing whispers to commit violence, feeling guilt that should have been placed at her father’s doorstep. “It wasn’t her fault that she killed Sara, so why has Laurel just left her there? Why did she think it was justified to take her to Nanda Parbat?”

Was Laurel punishing her?

Back still turned, Oliver spoke. “People don’t think straight when they’re suffering from grief.”

“A year ago, I would have believed that.” When the grief was fresh.

“I should have told her about Nanda Parbat.” His hands fell. “I should have… I took Thea.”

“Thea wasn’t dead.” The truth of the matter. “There was a reason you didn’t tell Laurel about the pit Oliver.” _You knew the price, honey_. “Once she found out, why didn’t she ask you what those reasons might be?”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Oliver finally turned back to face her. “She didn’t ask because she didn’t want me to say something she didn’t want to hear.”

Nodding, “Exactly,” Felicity moved to stand too, jerking on the spot at the feel of the cold floor. “None of us have asked Sara where she was this past year.” Smiling at how strange it sounded, rubbing her hands down her arms and wishing they were Oliver’s, Felicity continued. “Or if she’s even happy she’s back.” What did any of them know about life after death, anyway? Feet padding across the floor, leaving him space if he needed it. Close enough to touch her if he wanted to. “You have a history with Laurel that I can’t touch, but you…” loosing her words for a moment, she braved herself up to look at him and of course; he was already looking back. “Can’t you trust me just as much as you clearly believe in her?

Quizzical – a slow dawning realisation making his beautiful features, devastating – Oliver took a step towards her. “Felicity-”

“I’m just,” hand lifted outwards to him, a plea, “asking for a _modicum_ of that same…” Her throat moved. “Connection.”

That Oliver and Laurel still probably had. She didn’t doubt his heart - his love for her because he'd shown it, countless times - but would he defend another who’d put his sister in danger? Who’d caused the deaths of two innocent women because she hadn’t asked the effects the Lazarus waters has on a person, because she’d decided to keep to herself that the sister she’d brought back, was soulless. A woman who’d thought rectifying her mistake, meant killing Sara without trying absolutely everything to make her choice have meaning.

You can’t brush something like that under the rug, otherwise; what was the point of trying in the first place?

But something about what she’d said, the way she’d said it, made Oliver look at her the same way he had when-

_“…You opened my heart in a way I didn’t think was possible.”_

-When she’d said she loved him for the first time.

“Felicity.” Her name, again; her prayer on lips both supple and soft. “Is that what you think? That no matter what we’ve been through the last 7 months, what we have doesn’t… compare?” And when he realised that maybe Felicity did think this, the hurt in his gaze was swallowed by the sheer feeling in him.

For her.

“Baby.” Smiling; eyes shining, he came closer. “No.” Lifting his hands to cup her cheeks – and he was so deliciously warm she leaned into his palms – he moved in close enough to taste her air. “I had no idea that this was even possible.”

Eyes searching his – faces so close together her nose nudged his own – she breathed, “what?”

He licked his lips, lids flickering as his gaze dropped to her mouth. “You need to understand. It isn’t that I… Okay. I don’t trust Laurel.” He shook his head just enough that he didn’t budge them out of position. “I don’t. I’ve never trusted her; if I did, I might have told her that I was the vigilante. And I honestly couldn’t call anything I’ve felt or done the last few years as _belief_ in her.”

“Oliver,” he wasn’t making any sense, “for seven months after you returned home, you-”

“Were chasing a fantasy.” And she could see it, how much he needed her to hear him.

However. “Right,” she exhaled, “because that’s _so_ much better.”

Laurel. The fantasy.

Earnestness and soft frustration made his nose furrow. “No, that wasn’t-” Taking a breath, he looked at her. _Into_ her: passionate resolve keeping her quiet. “I wanted to fix everything I’d broken. The way to do that was to become the man I was supposed to _be_. That’s…” he shook his again. “I don’t know what that was, but it wasn’t what I thought it was.”

And when she muttered, she sounded small. “How do you know for sure? I mean, I know you love her. It's not the same but, you’ll always love Laurel. You have a history-”

Without moving his hands from her face, his thumb brushed over her mouth; halting her lips. “Baby, _no_.” His smile was so sweet, she didn’t know what to do with it. Like he was telling her she was being silly, and he loved her so much that he didn’t understand why this was happening right now and _oh_ … “As a friend, I _do_ love Laurel. I love Sara. I will always care about them. But I didn’t… Felicity, I didn’t know what it meant to love the way I thought I’d loved Laurel, until I met you. Until I fell in _love_ with you.” Would she ever get over the way he sounded or the way he made her feel when he said things like that? “Being with you, it made me see what I’d been too blind to see,” the thumb on her lips traced up to her cheek, his eyes _devoted_ in a way she’d been sure would leave him after coming back to Star City, but had only increased, “the same thing your eyes are telling me right now.” _Swoon_. “How could I have ever thought that what I felt once for Laurel was love, when I know real love? Felicity; it doesn’t touch it.” Hands tightening on her cheeks, Oliver pushed into her space; voice hushed and full of deep feeling. “You’ve made me better.”

The lightest, most achingly gentle kiss he’d ever given rendered her brain to silence. Slow lips and sure hands spoke to her, just as the way his lips remained covering hers told her secrets. _I’m yours. I was a fool. This is real_. This was true. 

Forehead pressed to hers, she opened her eyes to catch his own still closed. “A string of cotton between me and Laurel, or the twine between me and Sara, can’t withstand the ocean of love and trust surrounding us.” He murmured to her, like a lullaby.

 _Whelp_. She’d wanted him to hear her. It only touched her now that, maybe he always had.

Voice throaty, eyes burning she felt the underwhelming need to- “I didn’t mean to-”

A faster, firmer kiss stopped her words. “Ssh.” His nose nuzzled hers like, _c’mere_. “I understand.”

Finding her own hands covering his, it suddenly felt like it wasn’t enough. So, when one of his hands lifted over her hair, to the back of her neck – the other stroking through her strands – hers moved to touch his face, leaning forwards and into his chest. Like she was communicating things to him with her body. And she was.

And as usual he read her like a picture book. He was already leaning back; his impressive backside half-seated on the desk behind him so that he dropped down a few inches which really helped the whole _groping my boyfriend_ thing. Sometimes, she didn’t understand how they got out of bed in the morning.

“What I was saying about Laurel?” He spoke to her like they’d made love and had spent the better part of an hour staring up at the sky; the same kind of smoky incandescence drifting into his tone. “It wasn’t about trusting you less. It was because what you were saying was making sense and…” letting out a breath, he half shrugged, “it hurts to hear.” Looking down at her hands on his chest, his own drifted down to span across her back; her chilled skin immediately heating up under his roving hands. “I _worry_ that one day she’ll get herself into trouble, or killed, because she does _not_ listen to people who know more than she does.” Though his words were convicted, his tone was _bland_ enough not to be mistaken for anything remotely close to the love she’d thought he might still carry with him. “Her lack of skill, her experience; it puts me on edge in the field. I don’t know how Dig does it.”

Head titled, she didn’t make a sound. “Does what?”

“Let’s her watch his six and trust her to do it.”

“Well,” she hazarded to guess as she gazed without considering it, at the pattern of his scruff over his jaw and upwards, “you’ve never needed someone to watch your six. Not even Sara.”

“Of course, I-”

“You forget,” her finger moved before his eyes like, _nu uh_ , “I watch your every move. I know _all_ your moves.” It took her a moment and, graciously, he waited because he was such a _magnanimous_ boyfriend. “That sounded less creepy in my head. The point is,” her fingers tapped across his neck, _mmh_ , “you’ve made sure to be a one-man army for a reason. So that, even if your team mates are neutralised, god forbid, you can still function as a unit.”

He looked impossible taken with her just then: eyes dark with love and lust and everything in between. “With _you_ in my ear.”

Pulling in her lower lip, she felt herself smile the smile of the hopeful. “Always.”

 _Forever_ , he mouthed before continuing; as if he hadn’t just made her brain short circuit. Again. “Laurel puts herself on a pedestal she can’t reach. She’s filled with regret, for Sara. Guilt for Tommy.” He was silent for another moment and she didn’t intrude; just let him look at her unhindered - as if he gained strength from it - as she offered all the love she felt back in her gaze. “She _does_ carry anger. For me. _At_ me.” He admitted to her Felicity’s surprise. “I didn’t want to think that she could- _would_ use it this way.” I don’t think manipulation was her goal; I think she just wanted to right a wrong, but her anger at me, it… it’s twisted everything. I was just hoping she’d move on.” Smile bittersweet, Oliver pressed a kiss to the pad on her fingers as they brushed across his mouth. “I hoped that she’d find what I had: the truth. Something real.”

Feeling sad for everything he’d been through – for the man who’d lost a mother, a brother, a father, who’s sister was suffering and his first love still finding life difficult in a way he’d hoped she’d never have to – Felicity pushed upwards on her toes, kissing him. Loving him. Breathing him in.

Pulling back, hooded eyes met hers. “What do you want to do about this?”

Feeling just as wanting and hazy as he clearly was, Felicity whispered, “is it up to me?”

He nodded, humming. “Mm hm.”

“Then… revoke her security. Make her earn back the trust I currently don’t... um. I mean-” Lips pressed together, she added. “If that’s that not _too_ presumptuous? If you don’t feel the same, I can manage with-”

“I think it’s a good idea.” He softly filled in. “We _all_ need to talk about this though, after Sara’s settled.”

Feeling the solid mass beneath her, the strong hands on her, the eyes holding her, Felicity responded with, “tomorrow?”

Because with how low his hands were inching, they wouldn't be available until the world turned from grey to pink. To dawn. 

“...Tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 to come only when I've updated Indecent Proposal.


End file.
